


The Red Thread of Fate

by HeartsandThumbs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dean/Cas Tropefest 5k Mid-Winter Challenge, M/M, POV Castiel, Red String of Fate, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartsandThumbs/pseuds/HeartsandThumbs
Summary: Legend is, every human in the world is born with this invisible red string laced around their finger, and somewhere, your soulmate is connected by the same thread around theirs. The thread is impervious- and may get knotted up, or be really, really long and hard to trace- but the thread never breaks. Anyway, you just kind of follow your heart to its destination and at the end, it’s supposedly something like: “Oh hey, there you are, I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”Castiel Novak is a little late on finding his red thread- and when he does, he's left with a whole lot of questions- asking mostly if his heart can be broken, why can't the red thread?





	The Red Thread of Fate

* * *

* * *

 

Some people have a favorite book they carry around with them all the time. They can quote lines and pages without looking, and know the character in the book better than they even know themselves. For some people, they find comfort in religion and the _Bible_ , whereas others might like to delve into mysteries with _James Bond_ , or magic with _Harry Potter_. If you’re a reader, you know what I mean.

No matter what that book is for you, it is worn out, spine creased no matter how well you try to take care of it. It probably has a wrinkled cover, and maybe even coffee stains. Maybe it’s the third or fourth copy of the book- because the others have retired to the great bookshelf in the sky. I know mine is copy number five. It’s a fiction book based on the Japanese legend of the red string of fate.

I know what you’re thinking: it’s not exactly something that’s on the _New York Times’_ bestseller list...but, for me, it’s beautiful poetry- a masterpiece.

It’s all about this Japanese belief that dates back hundreds of years. Legend is, every human in the world is born with this invisible red string laced around their finger, and somewhere, your soulmate is connected by the same thread around theirs. The thread is impervious- and may get knotted up, or be really, really long and hard to trace- but the thread never breaks. Anyway, you just kind of follow your heart to its destination and at the end, it’s supposedly something like: “Oh hey, there you are, I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

I know, I know- but, I can’t help it. You see, I’m a bit of a hopeless romantic, and I always have been. My bookshelf is full to bursting with love stories- great and small, tales of impossible love, and fairy-tale love, and everything in between. Don’t even get me started on the movies- I could no sooner pick a favorite star in the heavens. Yes, that’s a quote from one of them- I’ll leave you to guess which. Here’s a hint: it’s sappy too.

I have an impressive collection, but, sometimes I want to watch something I don’t have- and that’s when I walk a few blocks to the video store.

Again, call me old-fashioned. Half of the rom-coms and romantic dramas are on Netflix, or Hulu, or at the very least, Amazon- but, that’s like reading books on those god-forsaken Kindles.

Books are meant to be held in your hand with a good cup of tea in the other.  They’re meant for highlights on passages that meant something, a dozen or so bookmarks, or even spills...they give them character. And then, of course, there’s the smell of books- new or old. You just can’t get that on a Kindle.

Just the same, movies are supposed to be on DVDs, held in your hand, displayed proudly on a shelf instead of streamed. Technology gets rid of all the best things, sometimes. Maybe that’s why I’m still here in small-town-Indiana. We don’t have much, but, at least we’ve got nostalgia down.

My name is Castiel Novak, and, well, I actually tend to ramble a bit, if you didn’t gather that. Maybe it’s that reason that I’ve never been kissed. Either that, or because I have my nose buried a little too deep in the unrealistic expectations of men that fairytales gave me. I mean, there’s also the fact that I can honestly say that being ‘out’ isn’t really something that happens in Indiana. It’s one of those things that no one really talks about- like religion, and politics.

It was a realization I had to come to pretty much on my own- my parents never mentioned that there was a chance that I could think about kissing boys the way most boys want to kiss girls. Then, I saw _Titanic_ , and I was irrationally upset because Jack and Fabrizio made an obviously better couple- and that they could have just shared the damn piece of wood, or kept swimming until they found two bigger pieces of wreckage. That’s a love story worth writing.

One day, they’ll write something for people like me. Until then, I’ll stick with my ritual of a couple movies from the movie store and unwinding with some popcorn and pizza. Maybe if the movie’s good, I’ll cry about how alone I am- and if the movie’s bad, well, there’s always my book about the red thread.

I told you, this is my fifth copy of this book. I can nearly quote it front to back, and still, I find myself mesmerized and looking for something new every time I turn a page. Sometimes, I get a little discouraged. I want to believe in soulmates, in the red string...more than anything- the entire concept is romantic beyond my wildest dreams. But, somewhere amidst the mess of my life, I guess the Japanese left me out and spared some poor guy the misfortune of being attached to me by some piece of thread. I’m clumsy. I’d probably knock him over, if he hadn’t taken one look at me and cut the thread himself.

I’ve been thinking about getting a cat for a few months now for the company. Or, maybe a dog if I haven’t completely given up hope. Don’t other guys go jogging with their dogs? I could take it for walks and some cute guy might ask me out for coffee.

At the video store, I browse all the shelves. I’ve seen most of these at least once. Just the same as my pizza person knows me by my name...it’s a shame she’s a she. It’s not even that I want to be a creature of habit- I just...don’t know any other way to be. I might love adventures- but, all of that sounds so much less overwhelming when thinking about someone by your side, enjoying the sights and scenery and making memories together.

I don’t want a knight in shining armor. Not really. I’m successful enough, I make good money, and I could pretty much do anything I want. I just want a partner-in-crime, a life partner...someone who fills me with happiness, and I them- someone to adventure with, share with, and someone to love me for me. It doesn’t seem like it’s asking much, but, here I am, twenty-three and not really getting younger.

Anyway, back to the movies. Grease, it’s a classic. I start to pass _Brokeback Mountain_ . I like it, but, sometimes I feel like people here are judging me. I just...I don’t really like being the center of attention...and here...well, it grabs attention. For some reason, I decide not to care, and grab _Brokeback Mountain_ anyway- it’s been a long time, and some of the details are becoming a little fuzzy in my head.

I have a good handful of movies when I reach up to grab for _Rock of Ages_ , one of my newer favorites. I feel another hand on mine, reaching for the same movie. I feel my heart stop as I turn to face my red string for the first time.

He’s tall, and maybe even a little more beautiful than I expected: dark hair, stunning green eyes, and the cutest sprinkling of freckles over his nose. He’s smiling at me. It’s the kind of smile that you can’t help but return. I have a feeling that if he was sad, the world would cry with him. His lips...oh...his lips are moving.

“I’m uh...I’m sorry, were you talking to me?” I ask, shaking myself out of my daze, glancing around a bit as though there’s anyone else here. Who am I kidding? It’s pretty much like _Big Fish_. Time has completely stood still. All that’s missing is some floating popcorn, and a field full of daffodils (which, coincidentally, happen to be my favorite flower).

He’s smiling again. This time, it’s a cute little half-grin that wrinkles his nose just a bit. It makes me want to start counting his freckles. It looks like it would take hours, but, somehow, I feel ready for the challenge.

“Yeah,” he answers. His voice is rough, but somehow smooth at the same time- like whiskey...not the cheap stuff- but, the stuff you bring out when you’re having good company. I feel like maybe he’s not so different from that description himself- both rough, and gentle. I’m usually pretty good with reading people- comes from being a bookworm. “I was just saying you should take the last copy, I think you were here first.”

He smiles, holding out the movie, and I feel my face heating up. I stare at his pinky for a couple seconds before realizing that I’m actually _physically_ looking for a little red thread connecting the two of us. I don’t mean to sound creepy- that’s really not how this is. I wish I could explain better. It’s one of those ‘aha’ moments...just like in the stories...where you run into someone, and there’s just this overwhelming sense of security, of familiarity and warmth just radiating. It’s almost like you’ve met before, and maybe in another life you have. And--I should be saying something.

“N-no, you take it.” I’m blushing harder now. I haven’t stammered in ages. “I have enough, and I’ve already seen it like five times.”

I must look pathetic to this beautiful guy. I’m holding a stack full of chick flicks in my hands, stammering like an idiot, and unable to form words.

I realize he’s looking at my movies now and all I can think of is to drop them and run. Of course, that isn’t how real life works, so instead, I just stand there- letting him look me up and down, judging me for the fact that I just _had_ to pick out _Brokeback Mountain._

“Brokeback Mountain is pretty good,” he says, “Is this your first time watching it? I liked it a lot.”

“It’s been awhile, but I’ve seen it a few times,” I hear myself say casually, even as I’m choking up that Mr. Leather-and-Ripped-Jeans has actually seen and enjoyed a movie about two gay cowboys.

He looks thoughtful a few moments, and I worry that he’s going to say ‘nice meeting you’ and then walk away, and that I, unsure of what to say or how to really even human, am just going to let him, and then, never see him again. Instead, he surprises me.

“I think there might be a solution to the _Rock of Ages_ problem,” he suggests.

“See if anyone’s returned a copy?” I manage, totally unsure of any other solution in that moment.

This time he laughs, and my insides melt, and laugh with him, warmth radiating through me and joy filling me through my ears and straight to my heart.

“I’m sorry,” he smiles, cutting the laughter off, “I didn’t get your name. I’m Dean.”

It fits him surprisingly well. He holds out his hand, I shake it.

“Hello, Dean,” I hear the words fall from my lips, “I’m Castiel.”

That half-smile again, like the sound of my name made him happy. I feel my knees start to go weak.

“Okay then, Castiel,” he says, still smiling at me, “I was actually thinking that we might just be able to watch it together, if you want? I’m a first timer, but, I’m a sucker for classic rock.”

Of course he is.

I take too long thinking about it again, and next thing I know, I’m realizing he’s still holding my hand, because I can feel it as he leans in, nearly whispering in my ear, “So, what do you say? Wanna get out of here?”

I drop my movies, and he immediately picks them up. Who said chivalry has to be dead? And he’s not opposed to musicals. Is there anything that isn’t perfect about him?  

“I…” Why am I not saying yes?

“I don’t bite, I promise,” he says gently, “C’mon, dinner and a movie. That’s all. You do eat, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I laugh. I’m nervous, and I’m thinking about the million and one ways I could mess this up before it’s even started “I’ve just…” _Never done this before._ “You know what? Food is great...I like food.”

“You’re a weird, dorky little man,” he says, smiling as he shakes his head, “I like it. Come on, let’s go.”

He pays for my movies, even though I insist, and he holds the door open for me. I’m not used to this. Is it weird that I’m noticing these little things? I mean, I hold the door for people often, and never even really get a thank you...and here I am, heart beating faster because a cute guy is holding a door open for me. I’m really getting in too fast. What if this isn’t even a date? What if this is like a ‘bros hanging out’ thing?

He wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer. He smells like the leather of the jacket. And, something else...cedar, maybe. “You’re not like other people, are you?” he asks.

I smile to myself. It’s the first time I’ve heard those words and not taken them as an insult, “No. I guess not.”

“Good,” he replies gently, “That would have been disappointing.”

 

* * *

 

We didn’t manage to start the movie before the food had arrived. He’d taken me home in this gorgeous old-fashioned black car, and we’d climbed the three floors to the apartment.

I hadn’t cleaned...there’s little point to keeping the place immaculate daily when there’s hardly ever any company. There was a cereal bowl and a box of Trix left abandoned on the coffee table in the living room from breakfast. Some clothes littered the floor, a couple dishes were in the sink. I mean, it’s pretty tame when you think about how messy some houses can get, but, still, not exactly the way you picture bringing a guy home for the first time.

“I’m really sorry,” I started, as I began to try and clean the mess away, “I wasn’t really expecting company.”

As I opened my cabinet, I realized two things. One, I need to learn how to cook, and, two: I own way too many things with cartoon characters. What am I, six?

I shoved the Trix between the Captain Crunch and Count Chocula.

“Hey, no worries, mine’s worse.”

I began thinking of what Dean’s place might look like. Something tells me messy, with clothes everywhere and maybe some cans and pictures of muscle cars and 80s hair bands.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

“No, I’ve got it, it’s fine. Make yourself at home. Do you want some popcorn?”

He leaned in, kissing my cheek. I stopped in my tracks.

“Relax, okay? Everything’s fine. I’ll go order a pizza. Any preference?”

“I’m not picky,” I tell him. I am a little bit picky. But, I’m not above picking things off.

“Do you like wings?”

“Yeah,” I grinned, “And I don’t really like black olives, or pineapple…”

“So you are a little picky?” He smiled back, wrapping an arm around my waist gently. It felt like he had done it a thousand times before.

“Maybe a little,” I admitted.

“How about pepperoni? Everyone likes pepperoni.”

“Yeah, that’s good.”

He grabbed his cell out of his pocket and ordered the pizza while I finished half-ass cleaning my apartment. I missed his arm around me.

After that, we sat in the living room and talked, with _Rock of Ages_ looping through its menu screen about a hundred times. We talked about everything- the world, each other, movies, books, music, and our dreams.

He was clever, and a little rugged, and somehow charming, and, oddly dorky. He ranked _Star Wars_ and _Lord of the Rings_ up there with his favorite action movies, and even said he didn’t mind the occasional romance in good company.

He liked classic rock, and old cars, and we even talked about men. He said he realized he was bi when he developed a crush on Luke Skywalker...I told him my first crush was Aragorn. It was basically a match made in heaven.

When the pizza came, we finally started the movie. He stayed focused, not like those weird people who ask ten thousand questions about the movie when they could just be watching it. I liked that.

By the time we got to _Waiting for a Girl Like You_ , we’d finished the pizza and he’d gradually scooted closer, until he had an arm wrapped around me and my head was resting gently on his chest, against his heart.

When _Pour Some Sugar on Me_ came on, my hand was in his, and he was stroking his thumb carefully up and down mine, and I couldn’t stop smiling- not for a minute.

The movie ended too soon. I didn’t want the moment to end, or for him to get up. I was content to stay exactly where I was, until he tilted my chin up, and he kissed me.

It was the best first kiss I could have possibly imagined. He had a little stubble that tickled my chin, and it started out a little clumsily, first kiss being what it was. But, he eased me into it, and he didn’t seem to mind my inexperience...either that, or he didn’t notice. His lips parted mine as the kiss escalated...my body was burning.

When his tongue pushed between my lips, I couldn’t help but sigh and submit to him, my hands shaking and stabilizing myself on his strong shoulders. He felt so good, and so right. As we kissed, the minutes passed, until we could scarcely breathe. We kissed until somehow I was beneath him on the couch and he was pulling my shirt over my head, and I was letting him...and until my fingertips were on his warm chest and wrapping around his neck as he kissed me more.

He took all of my firsts, with my full permission- and it was unlike anything I could have imagined. He was gentle, and warm, and loving- and neither of us seemed to want to stop. It was just...right, and for once, my book lay in a room away in the living room, after we’d moved to my bed...I had the real thing right beside me.

“Dean…” I asked that night, as my fingers traced his chest and we were falling asleep.

“Yeah, angel?”

My heart skipped.

“Please, be here in the morning. Stay.” Fairytales could exist, right? He could be my fairytale.

He smiled into my hair, I felt the hot air of his breath, “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Go to sleep, Cas.” He tickled into my ribs, and I squirmed a little before settling back down in his arms.

I could fall in love with him. Easily.

Maybe I already had.

 

* * *

 

It was a perfect beginning. It was like the ‘happily ever after’ most people dream of. We were probably the couple that other people hated because we were so obnoxiously cute together, but, we never really noticed anyone else. We were inseparable, and the months blew by so incredibly fast. Nine of them, to be exact.

“Your _friend_?” I spat, slamming the door behind me before he could even get in the door, “Are you kidding me, Dean?”

He leaned up against the door like I hadn’t just slammed it in his face, “What do you want from me, Cas?”

“A little honesty, and loyalty maybe, you ass,” I yelled back, irrationally.

“You don’t understand,” he said, as though it would make everything better, “That was my brother. I had to lie. He doesn’t know that I’m…”

“Bi? That’s never been a problem until now. What does it matter that I’m not some girl you found at some bar? We’re happy- doesn’t that matter? Don’t I matter? Are you ashamed of me?” I couldn’t believe it. Nine months of darting around his family, and now I knew why.

“It’s not like that, Cas. It’s just…”

I was crying now. This was our first fight, ever. I’m not irrational, even though it seems like it. Our first fight. Seriously. What do you say to the man you want to spend your life with when he can’t even tell his family about you? Takes a future together pretty much entirely off the table. It’s a lot different from our petty little couple squabbles about the toilet paper roll facing the wrong way, or which show was the better show.

I knew Dean. He was good, and kind, and loyal, sometimes to a fault. He was hard on himself, and liked to put a face on for the world when his own was falling apart. He listened to 80s love songs when he was upset, and would shut the door so no one would see him cry.

This wasn’t any of that, and I wanted to understand, “Then how is it?” I asked, finally lowering my voice. I choked on my tears and I hated that. I fought them, and they still won, seeping out of control down my cheeks.

“I told you before. I’m fucked up, Cas. You don’t get it...you can’t, and I’m not gonna put you through that. If he would have found out today?”

“He would have been happy for you! If he were any kind of brother at all he’d be happy for you because you’re happy,” I ran my hands up and down his arms reassuringly, “Aren’t we happy, Dean?”

There was a long pause. A long, unbearably quiet pause, where all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears.

Then, my world broke in two small, simple words.

“We were…”

“No. No, no, no, no, no…” I started panicking, pleading, “Please don’t do this. Please. Dean, we’re happy. Look, I’m not even mad anymore, it’s okay. It’s okay, you can take your time...you don’t have to tell him until you’re ready.” I wrapped my arms around him as though he would disappear in an instant.

“Cas…”

To anyone else, it would have sounded calm, collected. But I knew my red thread. I caught the tiny hitch in my own name, the way that his voice dropped half an octave when he was upset, or if it was something serious. I could feel the subtle tremors in his arms where he was trying not to shake, trying desperately not to show what he thought was weakness. He was so strong. He held worlds up for everyone, and didn’t even know how beautiful and strong it made him.

He took a few somewhat shaky breaths, “I can’t do this. You’re gonna find someone, okay? Someone great. That someone isn’t me. I’m not your red thread, or whatever. I’m just the guy that was tangled up in that knot, okay? I didn’t deserve you anyway. You deserve to be so happy, Cas.”

So, that was it? It was just over? Nine months of happiness...one moment of fear...and that was just...it? No, that couldn’t be it. I wouldn’t let him.

“I am happy. Dean, I’m happy. How could you say that to me? You know…” _You know we’re perfect for each other. You’ve told me so. You know we’re what inspires a fairytale?_ “Dean, we’re in love. We’re so in love.”

I started to hyperventilate as the reality of the situation came crashing over me like a tidal wave, after which, wave after wave just pounded against my chest in form of a heartbeat. He tried to touch me, to lead me to the couch, “Breathe.”

That didn’t help. I cried harder. I wanted to tell him a thousand things, but the tears wouldn’t even stop for one.

“Shit, Cas, I’m sorry.”

“You…” I choked, “You still love me.”  
“Of course I…”

“Then why?” I yelled, having to raise my voice just to choke a word out, to fight the salty tears and snot on my face, “Why are you doing this to us?”

“I might not ever be able to stop loving you, Cas. But I’ll never love you like you deserve. I’ll never be able to give you what you want.”

“You stupid…” I choked, gasping for breath through my tears, “Bastard, I want _you_. You’re all I want. Fucked up shit is a part of you, isn’t it? I want it. I want everything.”

I always had. I wanted him to trust me, to share his secrets and his life with me. I wanted to be his partner.

“What kind of life would that be?” Dean asked. He was a brick wall. He’d made up his mind, and he wasn’t going to back down now, “You deserve a chance to find your someone.”

Before I could respond, he reiterated, “It just isn’t me.”

He held me as I cried, just like he had when it was over simpler things- like a character death in a movie, or a hard day at work. There’s nothing that can adequately describe the anguish of the sickening comfort you still find in the arms of someone that you still love that’s fallen out of love with you. It hurts- it’s as close as a heartbeat, and as distant as a thousand oceans.

When I woke up, I was in the bed, but the spot next to me was cold. I panicked for a moment, jumping out of bed, only to find Dean asleep, curled on the couch with one of the smaller blankets. I covered him with the comforter and sat in the recliner opposite, taking the time while he slept to memorize each of the features that were part of the man who had my heart.

Later that day, I regained half of a closet, two dresser drawers, and a shelf in my bathroom. I didn’t fill them again. He hadn’t moved in officially- but it had been home for both of us.

 

* * *

  


For weeks, I lied to myself. I told myself he was coming back. After all, the thread can get knotted beyond recognition...but you still find your way back to each other, right? I just had to have a little bit of faith.

By a year and a half post-breakup, I was on my seventh copy of my beloved book, clutching to it as if it were some religious book that would be my salvation. I was actually reading it on a park bench when the thread wrapped around my heart again.

“Hey, Cas,” a soft and familiar voice said.

I couldn’t believe it. I looked up, and in the sun, there he was- like not a day had passed. Of course he still had his freckles, and his beautiful green eyes, and even that same sweet smile. But, not even his attire had changed- classic leather jacket and ripped jeans Dean Winchester. Still the man that my heart had been chasing from the moment we met.

“Hello, Dean,” I couldn’t help but smile at how real he was, standing there. At how well my memory had preserved him. I was still dying inside, and at the same time, I felt overjoyed.

“How have things been?” he asked.

He hadn’t lost my number. But he hadn’t ever asked. I’d made it a priority to keep the old phone number when I’d switched my plan the prior Autumn. I told you, I’m somewhat pathetic.

“Ah...I…”

“Dean, there you are!” A tall, tan brunette girl ran up with a little boy, both of whom latched onto Dean. Before he ever said anything, my heart shattered.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said. I wasn’t sure whether he meant to me, or to the girl and little boy (who was also dressed in leather and sunglasses). “Cas, this is my girlfriend, Lisa, and her son, Ben. Guys, this is Cas...tiel,” he added the last half on quickly.

“Nice to meet you,” I forced out.

“You too,” she said. It sounded just as forced. I wonder if she knew about me.

Dean interrupted the awkward tension by looking down at my book, “Still reading, I see?”

Really? How cruel could he be? He knew the book, he knew my feelings about it, and about us. He’d made us two red string bracelets early on. Shit. I hastily shoved my sleeve down as I forced a response, as well as a smile, “Oh yeah, you know me...can’t put a good book down.”

“Did you...uh...ever get to the end of that one?”

A subtly pointed question from the man who knew how many times I’d reread the book. He meant the string. _Once._ “Not yet,” I lied.

“You’ll have to let me know how it ends.”

Before my broken heart could say a word to that horrible statement, Lisa interrupted, “Dean, we need to go, we have a meeting with Ben’s teacher.” Forced politeness. She definitely knew.

“Right,” Dean agreed, pulling his keys out of his pocket, “It was good to see you, Cas.”

“You too,” I managed, deflated that life had done this to me. I waved at Lisa and Ben.

I only noticed it as he walked away. The red string...he’d tied it to the keys, like a keychain. It was everything I could not to chase after him.

What did all of it mean?

I didn’t have time to think about it. I picked up my phone, daring to text a number that might not even be his- because of fate, or the red string, or whatever.

“Hello, Dean. Think I just found the end of the book on your keys.”

He stopped, checking his phone. He turned around, and he smiled at me.

I watched him get in the car, and I lost sight of him behind the tinted windows.

My phone beeped. “Never breaks, does it? Not really.”


End file.
